


Everything Stops

by sk8rpssockpup (MissIzzy)



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: F/M, Incest, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-17
Updated: 2009-11-17
Packaged: 2017-12-28 22:08:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/997493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissIzzy/pseuds/sk8rpssockpup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He felt he had to do something, but this was what he'd been trying not to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything Stops

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after Marat's final match in Paris.

It took too long to get away. The last ceremony, final farewells, line of autographs, and march out, the final press conference, more meetings still, and even getting accosted by anti-doping officials one last time. If they'd wanted to say goodbye to him too, Marat wished they'd done it on their own time. By then he was feeling completely spent, and the most important thing he would do that day remained to be done, though he'd had to beg this little time to do it before he joined the evening's companions for their little farewell celebrations, saying he needed some time alone-an outright lie.

He knew he would find her waiting in his hotel suite, where she'd hidden since her arrival in Paris. She had wanted to be there for the end of his career, but since Doha she hadn't wanted to deal with people. He didn't think she should have put herself through this, but when he had greeted her here, he had still considered himself bound by his own private promise to himself that he would not interfere with her life.

Even though that was exactly what he intended to do tonight, because since then he'd come to realize he'd finally had it with seeing her cry and torture herself. Something had to be done, and he didn't even know if he could do it, but he had to try.

When he opened the door Dinara was the first thing he saw, silhouetted by lamplight, turned away from him so he could see the curve of her back through her darkly-colored top, her hips and ass and thighs encased in her jeans, the angle such that the swell of her breasts was just hinted at. He knew she didn't view herself as beautiful, that she spoke of him getting all the looks while refusing to resent it-there was so much she refused to resent, and that certainly their countrywomen on the tour were all far more his type, but in the past few months, since the danger had started, he'd seen her exuding a sexuality all her own, one much like his, raw and ferocious and needy. He'd caught a single glimpse of it under circumstances that should never have happened, and it had hung between them ever since.

It had once been his little secret, this attraction to her. He'd heard this happened to siblings sometimes, something called genetic sexual attraction, that a normal upbringing was supposed to nullify, but their upbringing hadn't been normal. For years he'd observed his own desires with a detached amusement, since after all, he'd thought, it wasn't like he was ever going to act on them. If nothing else, he'd assumed they were safely one-sided.

Until that night she'd come to London, still in pieces after the French Open, and one barrier too many had broken down,and when he'd realized just how much she wanted it too, he'd momentarily lost control. He still shivered when he remembered the heat of her mouth against his own, her hands grasping his ass, her thigh rubbing hard against his erection, her hair and the softness of her breasts on his fingers, for he'd gotten his hands into her bra before they'd managed to stop themselves. At least they had stopped themselves then, but Marat didn't know what would happen if he ever again gave into the urge to kiss her. 

She turned to look at him; at least her eyes were dry. “How are you?” she asked.

He had answers for that question with a level of honestly acceptable for the press and the outside world, but not for her. Instead he said, “I'm more worried. How's your back? Better? Worse?”

“Better than yesterday; I get injected with enough cortisone and I mostly don't feel it. I might even be able to get back on the court.”

“No!” The word ripped itself from Marat's mouth and she took a step back when she heard it. “Dina, you have to listen to the doctor this time. And honestly, even if your body was ready to go back, I still don't think you should.” There. Challenge laid. It was time to say what he'd promised himself he'd say in the first round, when it had looked like he might go down to that Frenchman, on the last night he remained part of the world she was still trapped in. “Dinara,” he said, “sit down. I have to say this to you and I won't rest until I've said it.”

That might not have been the best way to start this; he saw the rebellion in her eyes. There were very many times that Dinara would turn stubborn, when she simply would not do something she didn't want to do, and he was swiftly growing afraid this was one of those cases. But he had to believe she'd hear him out at least. Even if she would listen to noone else, he knew she'd listen to him, even if didn't get her to change her mind. It was why he'd been so hesitant to speak, because he was too aware of his power over her, but the situation had finally driven him to it.

She was careful sitting down on the couch; he saw her touch her hip. He placed himself in the easy chair opposite her, close enough to place his hand on her shoulder, no closer. He kept his hands away as he began. “Dina, what do you expect going on like this?”

“I don't know, Marat,” she said, in such a way that made him think she did know, or was afraid she knew.

“You're not happy, are you, Dina?”

“I will be,” she insisted, “if I can just fix my serve and and my head.”

And there was that self-harrying, self-blaming tone that he so hated to hear from her. “Dinara,” he said fervently, “please don't do this to yourself.”

“What?” she reacted angrily, moving to standing up, stopped only by him touching her elbow. “So you think I'm not good enough? You think I should just quit?”

“No,” he said, “but I do think you need a few changes. Maybe get rid of that coach of yours?”

She pulled away from him, back into her chair. “Marat! Zeljko made me a top player.”

“And what is he doing for you now? Dina, these days I get the impression he expects you to lose. You can't train under that kind of coach, no matter what he's done for you in the past.”

“Then I can't train under any coach anymore, can I?” This burst from her, too loudly, the first symptom of her possibly coming apart. “Now they all expect me to lose!”

“Not if you find one who likes fixing players up, and there's more than one of those. I found one. Find one willing to take on a hard worker-Dina, there are coaches around the world who would kill for a player of your dedication, no matter what her history-then tell your Zeljko you thank him, you'll be grateful to him for the rest of your life, and get away from him.”

She made no response; she just sat there, clearly fighting back tears. Marat didn't know whether to press or to wait.

Finally, she said the thing he would least expect her to say, “Marat, I don't know if you really understand the situation.” For a moment, in fact, she seemed stunned that she'd actually said that to him; he suspected she'd been thinking it longer, and it said something about her maturing that she was confident enough to say it out loud.

It had helped her, too, that she was at least partly right. “I understand only that you're making yourself miserable, Dina. How you stop making yourself miserable is ultimately your decision; I'm just trying to help.”

Dinara was blinking hard. She leaned forward, and it was only then that Marat became aware that he too was leaning in, making their faces very close. He thought he might have kissed her then, had he been anyone in the world other than her brother.

“I can't miss Australia,” she said feebly.

“It's one slam,” he replied. “Drop the ranking points and you might even get rid of the pressure.”

“What pressure?” she shrugged. “The world's given up on me. The pressure's all from me, Marat, and if I miss Australia, that will just get worse.”

“It won't if you don't let it,” he urged. “I know it's hard, Dina, but didn't you say yourself you were going to put your body first?”

“I did,” she sighed. “And I meant it.”

But it was harder to drill it in day after day, and so Marat said, “I know it's long. I know you feel like you're going to go crazy waiting. If you want to, you know, you can come traveling with me after New Year's. I'm not sure where I'm going then yet, but it's sure to be distracting.” It would also carry with it a very certain risk, but Marat had decided long ago he was going to be a proper brother to Dinara, whether it caused him temptations or not.

“Maybe,” said Dinara, which meant she was too depressed to either want or not want to. Now Marat was truly alarmed.

That was what sent him across the space he'd placed between them at first, sat him down next to her on the couch, and put his arms around her, letting her bury her face into his neck. Her hand found his and held on.

“Think about it,” he murmured to her. “We'll travel so fast noone in the world will be able to find out where we are, the past won't matter, the future won't matter, you won't have to worry about tennis or what anyone thinks about you-Dinara?” For now she was starting to cry, her shoulders heaving against him. “Dinara, what...?”

“You talk as if it's just a matter of walking away from tennis. It is for you, isn't it? You have so much...” She wept too hard to continue.

“I have so much what?” Marat tried to press. “Tell me, Dina, please.” But his sister's only answer was her sobs getting harder.

With no clear words from her about why she was so upset, Marat guessed out loud. “Are you measuring your worth as a human being only by how you play tennis, Dina? Have you really gone that far?”

She tried to turn away from him; she had, and it made her feel ashamed because she knew how he would react. That just made him feel worse.

“You do know we love you, Dina, no matter what happens on the court? Me and our parents and all your friends.” No reaction from her. “You also know I hate this. See this stupid game do this to you. Honestly, Dina, this is trivial. This is something you shouldn't get upset about.”

Dinara made a distinctly angry noise and finally stood up, wrenching herself away from her brother. He grabbed her and forced her to look at him as he pleaded. “Dinara, I will say this over and over again if I have to. This is not worthy of tears from such a wonderful, beautiful woman as you.”

Her sobs mixed with harsh laughter; she didn't believe him. She was barely even hearing him anymore. Marat was getting desperate.

“Dinara, come with me,” he tried to command. “We'll run out on everyone in December, won't even wait, just for a month...” It wasn't going to work. He'd known that already.

He still had a hold on her, and without quite realizing it had stepped forward, until he could see little besides her wide, crying eyes, staring at him as if she did still want to believe, as if she was trapped behind a locked door. One of those thick iron doors that they said nothing could break down. An explosion might do it, or a battering ram, or fire.

Or the shock of her older brother surging forward and kissing her with all his might out of the sheer need to get through to her.

For a moment he thought it was too late for even that to work-though perhaps if it had been, he could have quickly withdrawn. But then she came to life as if a switch had been pulled, shoving herself up against him while her tongue tangled with his, her arms flying down his back struggling for a solid grasp, and yet she was still crying; he could feel the hot tears on his own cheeks.

With the torrent of emotions choking his heart, he couldn't pause to think. He pulled away from her mouth to press fervent, adoring kisses along her jaw, up to her ear, down to the side of her neck as she gasped and whimpered and stroked her fingers on his face. He felt her warm lips on his ear, their mouths coming back together as their heads both turned, and he couldn't stop kissing her, drawing her close, caressing her hair, her arms, all of her. 

When they came up for air, her tears had stopped, and her sobs gave way to hiccups. “Please,” she gasped through them. “Oh, please, Marat, make love to me, make me feel good for the first time since the US Open.”

If there'd been any hope left of his pulling back now, that put an end to it.

He took her hand and led her to the bedroom as his mind went into a flurry. _I can't really do this, can I?-I want her so much-why didn't I make the bed this morning-hope the condoms aren't expired-at least she's calming down-how can we even do this without making her back worse?_

And then, as she pulled her shirt off and recklessly threw herself onto the bed, the most anxious thought of all, _I have to make this good for her._

Of course, it wasn't like the million or so women he'd fucked in his life hadn't had a good time, or at least most of them had once he'd gotten to the age of nineteen or so. But if he was honest with himself, Marat would admit readily that he'd never made much of an effort for that, that he'd been selfish in bed, and that he'd never bothered to learn how to make sex for his partner the kind of experience that Dinara deserved. And he'd certainly never looked down at a woman, lying there and eager for him, and feared he would seriously hurt her emotionally if he didn't do this right.

As he took his shirt off and joined her on the bed, Marat felt like he had losing his virginity at fourteen, lost, terrified, and with an almost compulsive need not to appear anything but supremely confident. But surely when his hands found his sister's body again and her bare skin, she could feel how they were trembling.

At least he knew how to do this, though; her bra was quickly off and tossed away, and she pushed her breasts up into his hungry mouth. He savored the sweet flesh, feeling her hands dig into his shoulders as he sucked on her nipples, moving his hands down to her jeans, working on the zipper, bent on the delicious heat waiting for him.

It shocked him to feel how wet she was already, and to hear the low, animalistic moan that escaped her when he found her clit. More followed as he cautiously rubbed, and traced a single finger down towards her opening, felt her squirm for it, and then her hand moved down, found his swollen cock and pressed hard, making him groan against her breasts.

He moved up to kiss her again, and between clashes of lips and tongues she whispered, “Get naked. Let me look at you.” He was happy to obey, hovering over her so her lust-filled eyes could look their fill. They lingered on his cock, and he saw her lips tremble.

“On your back,” was her next demand, and when again he obeyed, she threw herself on him. Frantic whimpers escaped him; her mouth was everywhere, on his nipples, at his neck, down over his abdomen and when her tongue found his cock he had to grit his teeth to keep from coming right there. Where her mouth wasn't her hands were, her nails digging into his thighs, stroking his hips, even moving back to cup his ass.

He was almost overloaded with sensation when suddenly she withdrew, and he heard a loud “Oh!” that was unmistakably one of pain.

“Dinara!” He pulled himself up.

She too was sitting up, clutching hard at her hip. “It's okay,” she said. “I just bent it the wrong way.” He watched her relax. “I don't think I can be on top, though.”

“But surely you can't have me on top of you!” They didn't have to do anything she physically was unable to safely do, he reminded himself. They could make do with their hands and their mouths. But he felt a sharp pang of longing, remembering the tip of his finger at the edge of her heat, and thought of what it would feel like to plunge his cock into that, feel it clench around him.

“Then we both have to lie on our sides,” Dinara was saying, and somehow that caused Marat's stomach to twist with more than one feeling, at this confirmation, that they were going to do that final act. And she was now pulling her jeans down, her underwear with it, kicking off her shoes and yanking off her socks, and he found himself reaching into the drawer by the bed for a condom, tearing a packet open.

He saw desire and fear both in her face when they awkwardly lay back down facing each other, moving until her breasts touched his chest. He kissed her, one hand in her hair, as with the other he got the condom on; an easy trick for a man of his history. But she whimpered into his mouth as she heard it crinkle, and then her leg was placed over his, everything in position, neither moving forward, though his cock ached and screamed at him.

He broke the kiss to look into her eyes. He waited for one of them to pull away, even though he knew neither of them would.

Then she whispered a soft, “Marat...” and, slowly, gently, he began to push in.

They both moaned when he was fully buried, almost bellowing, two eerily similar sounds echoing as he cradled her body, caressing her breasts, thrusting into her slow and deep, trying to make it last, both because she felt so good around him he didn't want it to end, and because with each loud cry of pleasure from her he wanted to give her more, he wanted her to forget everything but how good it felt, wanted to make her get louder and louder until she screamed with ecstasy. He reached down to her clit once again, circled and circled until she begged him to touch.

“Not yet, dear heart,” he whispered to her. “I don't want this to be over yet.” Though he didn't know how much longer he could last; she was getting tighter still, and the feeling of her bucking and writhing against him was nearly too much to withstand.

“Please, Marat,” she was gasping, “I can't stand it, oh, I can't, oh _please,_ Marat, it feels so...” He touched her clit and her words dissolved into what was nearly a shriek. She was going to scream his name; he knew it. And he was now desperately choking back any sounds, because if he let go he might scream hers and if anyone heard, they'd know.

It was on his lips as they found her neck and buried themselves in her skin, his mouth formed the syllables as the scream came and she convulsed around him, and he couldn't hold back, couldn't do anything but close his eyes and let himself join her in release. _Dinara, Dinara, Dinara,_ until he couldn't think any longer.

And then it was over, and brother and sister were left out of breath, covered in sweat, bodies sated, minds overwhelmed.

Marat was trying to gather the facts together. He had just had sex with his sister. It had been better than it had been with most of the women he'd slept with recently. She had been very willing. But she might not have been in a state to make the best judgments-he should have thought of that earlier, but would that have stopped him? He didn't know. Their earlier conversation had not gone as planned, and he might not know for a long while if he'd done any good.

“Was that good?” he asked, because he had to hear her confirm it.

“It's...” she sounded a little shocked that he'd had to ask. “That was....yes.”

The relief was surprising, but far from unreasonable; this had been too dangerous a thing to second-guess. This might still cause her problems in the long run, but worrying about those was a useless venture now that the deed was done.

“Aren't you going out tonight?” she then asked. “Aren't your friends expecting you?”

Marat groaned; he had forgotten about that. “I suppose I should shower,” he said, and reluctantly pulled himself out of bed.

She needed a shower too, so they shared one. Normally such a scenario for Marat would have undoubtedly turned sexual, but the weight of what he'd just done hung on him, and left him unfit for a second go. Yet they kissed and touched freely under the hot spray, cleaning each other off.

“You could come tonight,” he suggested. “We can even think up some extra explanation for why you came to Paris, say you arrived just this afternoon if you want.”

“No,” she said. “Thanks, but I still don't think I'm ready yet.”

“You shouldn't hide from the world like this too long.”

“I know. But I think I still will tonight. I'll get our things packed, save the trouble of doing it tomorrow morning.”

They lingered under the water some time, her enfolded in his arms. When they stepped out of the shower, he would have to go back into the world as if he had not just done what he had just done, and that felt like a far more daunting prospect than usual. Uneasily he thought that might be more reason for Dinara to remain that night in the safety of the hotel suite.

When he was dressed and ready to go, he kissed her chastely on the side of her face, a gesture that only a year ago he could and would have done without even thinking anything of it. Now she sighed, and said, “Marat? Tonight? Please don't bring a girl back. I don't care what you do once we get back to Moscow, but I don't want another woman in here. And I'm sure your friends already have a girl lined up for you, but you'll have to turn her down.”

“I shall leave her very confused,” he laughed, and left with her smiling.

He didn't mind so much the prospect of losing whatever hot blonde was presented to him that night, if only because he had the feeling there would be plenty of women in Moscow. He might even be able to fuck them all without thinking too much about his sister. 

He the feeling already that by then, once he'd put some distance between himself and the emotion of the moment, he would think that he and Dinara had better leave this as a one-night stand, and he might even convince himself they could do it. But here, closer to the truth, he knew it wouldn't end as easy as that. There would be other times, especially if she did accept his invitation to go on vacation with him, but even if she didn't, there would be opportunities, and for the next few months, at least, they would probably end up taking them. Perhaps if she could get into a better place professionally, or otherwise pull her life together, they might be able to desist, but he honestly didn't know when she'd do that. Or even if she got a boyfriend, but she didn't seem likely to.

It would not last the rest of their lives. He told himself that as he headed for the elevator. Eventually he would let her go so she could enjoy a normal marriage and family. But it could go on for a very long time.


End file.
